Yesterday, while I was making this collage, my Japanese friend Sumire “called” me via Skypechat, writing this short message; “Earthquake.”
Once again everything around her was shaking, – her cat went under the sofa, but she herself kept on chat-writing with me. Skype chat makes it possible to do other things, while waiting for answers, so I used the waiting time to finish the collage and send her a copy, thinking about how different conditions we have to adjust to. There have been many earthquakes around us lately, but the people in New Zealand and Japan seems to have a strong mind and forces to overcome the disaster in a very calm way. I surely would have been under the sofa before the cat.
Sumire found that the collage was encouraging, which I was very glad to hear, and it immediately motivated me to post it at my blog. Perhaps encourage others who might need it because of a long winter or a boring day. Or something else, – hopefully less serious than in Japan and New Zealand.

During the second WW, we had no bananas. I say we, but actually I wasn´t born back then, and so I never learn how it feels to miss bananas. Of course one can learn some by listening to “Yes,-we have no bananas”, and the Danish song “Når der kommer en båd med bananer” (When the boat with bananas will arrive, then…), but the fact that the feeling of missing something can stay in one´s mind for ever, even when the “problem” isn´t there anymore, was an experience that came to me, when my great grand mother in 1989 turned 90 years. Her old friends and cousins were gathered in her little cosy flat, for the occation decorated with flowers and flags. Royal porcelain bowls were filled with delicate chocolates for the guests, and the finest crystal glasses had been taken out from dark cabinets, to be filled with sherry or liqueur. Everything was as fine and special as we – her family – thought she would like. When the guests were nicely seated my great grandmother, (who btw was totally fresh) asked them “Would you like a banana”? No doubt that this question surprised me, but I was even more surprised about the reaction from the guests, whom apparently found this offer absolutely relevant. Great grandmother knew best what would mark a day as special for her guests, and for herself. This was a good lesson for me.

I will leave you with the same question as my great grandmother, though this time not with reference to privations, only to the joy of shapes and light.